Legacy of Kain: Arisen
by oloan
Summary: This is the story of what happened between Raziel's execution and rebirth. Aamon, one of the Razielim sentenced to death, managed to escape Kain's iron grasp. Now, all he 'lives' for is revenge.
1. Prologue

Prologue

Two of Kain's lieutenants stood against the rim of the Abyss. The air felt heavy and tasted of rain and salt, a combination that danced gleefully upon one's palette. A devious, even somewhat curious grin crept across the two faces as they dragged their mangled brother before the vortex, too weak and helpless to even hold his own head. The thrill of something new was a sense long forgotten between the vampires. Immortality can become rather…lethargic at times.

Kain knelt before the precipice, examining the swirling waters below. This place was where treasonous fools and weaklings were sentenced. Raziel, the condemned, was Kain's first born lieutenant and held court over one of six vampire legions: the Razielim. Each of Kain's six sons had their own unique clan, all of whom are direct descendants of their commanding lieutenant. As a vampire matured, their bodies adapted to a vessel beyond that of man. They became more godlike in appearance, their bodies becoming a true personification of the Dark Gift they possessed. Raziel, the vampire who now lay beaten and bloody, was to be executed for having the audacity to surpass his Lord and growing bat-like wings. Soon, the Razielim would follow their sire's evolution.

The touch of water was like acid to a vampire; burning, twisting, melting the flesh clear of the bone as if it were made of ice. The smell of salt in the waters was met with a brooding scowl. Kain stood and turned, offering no glance towards his lieutenants. Instead, he began to walk away, almost as if he were uninterested in the execution of a subject. After taking several steps, Kain froze. Without nary a final glance at the condemned, Kain merely turned his head so that he might be heard more clearly.

"…Cast him in."

Exited at the prospect of killing who they once considered kin, the malicious smirk that plastered both Dumah and Turel's faces returned. Together, they lifted the demented Raziel to his feet so that he might see where his fate lay. Below was the Abyss, tearing at itself; hungry for anything to ravage. Raziel's eyes widened, a meek groan escaped his throat. Before he could muster a cry of mercy, his brothers heaved Raziel over the brink. Raziel's torn body rag dolled through the air, twisting and contorting on a whim. His wings, now no more than boneless flaps of skin, dangled behind him, as if in a desperate attempt to flee the body. No such freedom was had. Raziel plunged into Hell.

Kain motioned for the two to follow. "Go back to the Sanctuary and instruct the other lieutenants to purge any and all who belong to the Razielim. His solitary death does not atone for his treachery, and his clan is the ones who will pay for his transgressions. Slaughter, maim, torture, do whatever you wish to them; they are no longer of my Kingdom. They are now no more your kin then the human cattle, do you understand Turel? Dumah?" The two nodded hastily, their faces bore no hint of remorse. "Good. Then go." Kain instructed, taking his leave.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The clouds of smoke above licked the sky in a magnificent dance of reds and yellows, as if the very heavens were set aflame. The smog belched from the furnace's towers blanketed the sky as to shield advancing vampire armies from the poisonous effects of sunlight. The clouds mirrored the grand pyre that devastated the ground below. The flames devoured anything that lay before them in a grandiose display; a true testament to the power the vampire legion possessed. The invading armies, squadrons from the Razielim and the Dumahim, were to lay siege to Willendorf, one of the few bastions that stood in the way of Kain's empire.

Battalions upon battalions swarmed from every corner of the kingdom, unwilling to forfeit to the vampire onslaught. However, their efforts were in vein. Once cleaved, a vampire's flesh would mend immediately, hardly even enough to stun one for more than several seconds. One of the few ways to kill a vampire is to impale it upon a blade, such as a spear or sword. However, removing the spear from the corpse would allow the vampire to re-enter its vessel, tearing its soul from the grips of Hell.

A woman sprinted desperately through the maze of homes, trying fruitlessly to evade a pursuer. She fatigued quickly and, giving in to exhaustion, fell to her knees. She turned to meet the one who hounded her so fervently, his figure shadowed by the bright flames behind him.

"P-please, don't kill me!" She begged, tears rolling down her dirt-smudged cheeks.

"Begging will not protect you. Do not die with your tail between your legs." The figure remarked.

"I h-have a family! Please, my s-son…" The dark silhouette reached down and lifted the woman in the air by her throat. Her legs dangled below her as she refused the iron grip. The figure moved its thumb so that her throat was clear and unprotected, pulled the woman close. Without pause or concern, he sunk his fangs into her neck. A cry for help barely escaped her lips before her limbs fell to her side, now dead as her attacker. His meal was cut short, however, by a voice behind him.

"Aamon," It said in a raspy, grunt-like bark, "now is not the time nor place to indulge yourself. Come." Without averting his gaze, Aamon released the woman from his grip and her body sprawled upon the brick ground, wound still bleeding. He turned and stepped towards his

"I tire of your interruptions, Dagon." Aamon commented, wiping the blood from his lip.

"Your patience is not my concern." The hulking mass growled. It was clear that this fiend was the product of many battles. His skin was like that of armour and was decorated with an assortment of scars and wounds. "Right now, your only regard is the outcome of this battle." Dagon said, jabbing Aamon in the chest with a beefy finger.

"I do not need your advice." Aamon remarked. He held onto the sheath laced in his belt and sped off into the swelling pyre. Dagon followed.

The two approached a large opening; the town square, likely. There, several dozen soldiers charged through towards the Willendorf gate, several staying behind to protect the path to the castle. Aamon put himself against the side of a house and crouched as not to be seen, and then motioned to Dagon to flank the remaining knights from the side. Dagon nodded in obedience and was soon out of sight. Aamon peered from behind his hiding spot, hastily analyzing a plan of attack. If all was to plan, Dagon would rush the knights, catching them off guard and wiping several from their ranks. Aamon would then rush into the fray and, while the surprise was still instilled in the soldiers, take out the remainder of the cattle.

Aamon readied himself for the attack. As soon as he got to his feet, however, something struck him between the shoulders and knocked him to the ground several feet forward. Taken by surprise, Aamon instinctively whirled around to face his attacker. A Sarafan sorcerer stood before him, arms outstretched and fingertips smoking. Behind him, a Sarafan paladin stood, brandishing the traditional holy spear and armour. Aamon tried to scuttle to his feet, though to no avail.

"You will not have this day, beast! Aluguard, quickly! Pierce its heart before it recovers!" The sorcerer cried. The paladin made his way toward the still fallen Aamon, preparing his spear. Aamon struggled to regain his footing, but his scorched back made it difficult to stand. Alugard the Paladin raised his spear in an unwarranted sense of victory; Aamon still sprawled helplessly in the dirt. However, before the final blow was delivered, a tremendous crash averted both the attention of the victim and the victor. The sorcerer had nary a second to glance at the source of the commotion before an overly-large, puissant hand clenched around his skull. Dagon burst through the wall of the home Aamon had used to hide and charged forward, plowing the ill-fated sorcerer through an adjacent building. Unsure of how to react, the paladin turned towards the massive, hulking fiend, hoping to somehow ward it off. Aamon took advantage of this window and grabbed a large piece splintered wood nearby. In one fluid motion, Aamon sprung to his feet and ran the sharpened wood through the paladin's exposed neck. He fell without struggle and sprawled himself across the ground, his blood mingling with the dirt.

Aamon wiped the dirt from his tunic, watching the fallen knight as if he was to rise to his feet. Dagon stomped over and growled in the composed vampire's face. His stagnant breath reeked of old blood. Aamon did not even offer him a glance, much less gratitude.

"You are a discredit to your line. You claim to be one of the pristine Razielim. You are nothing more then a polished tick." Dagon bared his teeth. With no hint or forwarding, Aamon clenched Dagon's throat in one hand and his wrist in the other, effectively lifting the massive vampire from the ground and felling him so that their faces met again. Aamon's eyes shown no hesitation in slitting Dagon's throat, a feeling he made sure to relay to the now defenseless vampire. Without a sound, Aamon released Dagon from his grip and continued towards the castle.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Dagon tore through the warriors who stood before the lavish throne room door, their petty attempts at piercing his steel-like skin only fueling his onslaught. Bones cracking and soldiers screaming blanketed the sound of the crackling pyro outside. Behind Dagon, Aamon stomped through the array of bodies, a choleric expression painted upon his face. When they approached the large chamber door, Dagon stepped to the side. Responding to Aamon's perplexed expression, the large fiend spoke:

"Would anyone but the great Razielim have merit to claim this siege?" Aamon's stare bore through Dagon. He was not one who cared for glory, nor was he one to be so easily swayed. Aamon's distrustful gaze did not avert from Dagon's as the prodigious vampire approached him. "As a high warrior of the Razielim, it is your duty to uphold the stature and reputation of Raziel's legion. You are to speak and act in Raziel's leave. Raziel," Dagon leaned in closer, "kill the king and claim this battle. Go!"

Dagon's grin was unnerving. However, Aamon stood unblinking. His gaze remained steady, as if trying to pry through Dagon's mind. Aamon grunted as he reluctantly started towards the massive chamber door. He pushed the mammoth door open, finding it much lighter than it appeared.

It took a moment to survey the area. Smoke and ember clouded the room, making it difficult to observe. Aamon squinted; a shadowy figure was visible on the far side of the throne room. The vampire started forward, unsheathing his blade. As he approached the throne, however, Aamon sensed something was wrong. While one would normally cower in the face of death, the figure merely sat there, unshaken.

"Something's amiss…" Aamon moved into a fighting stance, then jumped forward at an incredible speed and plunged his sword into King Elden's chest. No blood escaped the king's wound. No scream, no struggle. Nothing. King Elden had already been slain.

Aamon spun around in time to see Dagon's enormous hand wrap around his skull and lift him from the ground. In the next moment, Aamon was plowed into the flooring with such force that would kill any man. Dagon lifted Aamon as his body hung limp and hurled him into a column on the far side of the room, breaking it. Dust surrounded Aamon as he tried to compose himself. He began to lift himself using the column stub as support, but was driven through the wall by Dagon's hulking body. Aamon's body crashed through the wall and tossed helplessly through the air, his limbs refusing to respond. The mangled vampire landed in the corner of the hallway they previously been. A loud cry, as well as a significant amount of blood, escaped Aamon's mouth as he impacted. He lifted his head, trying desperately to focus his vision as Dagon's mastodonic figure approached.

"Do you think this will go without notice, Dagon?! My soldiers will know a human could not do this to me! Raziel will find and sentence you for treason and the murder of one of his highest-!"

"I ordered the Dumahim to attack your soldiers hours ago, Aamon. They are all dead. Raziel," A sadistic grin crept across Dagon's face, stretching from ear to ear, "has been executed by Kain's orders. You and the rest of your pristine Razielim are to be hunted and slaughtered like animals. I am merely a servant of the empire, Aamon." Dagon removed a spear from a corpse's grip as he walked. Aamon struggled to stand, but in vain. The hulking vampire arrived at the felled Aamon and pressed him against the wall with an immense foot.

"You are my enemy, Aamon." Dagon lifted the spear and, with blinding speed, plunged it through Aamon's exposed chest. A scream burst forth from Aamon's throat, but was soon reduced to a growl. He clutched the head of the spear, but was too weak to remove it. Teeth bore, Aamon's eyes met Dagon's, and an expression of unimaginable wrath plastered Aamon's face. Black blood flowed from Aamon's lips and his eyes began to gloss over. He clutched desperately to the life that was rapidly leaving his body, but to no avail. Aamon felt himself weaken as his soul was torn from his body. With the last of his energy, Aamon lifted his head. Dagon gazed at him, a sadistic sense of accomplishment emanating from his being. Without anything left to grasp hold to, Aamon's head rolled upon his shoulder.

Aamon died.


End file.
